


After Laughter

by sgt_fuckybarnes



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Comedy, Gen, HTP, Hydra, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mentions of Antisemitism, Mentions of Rape, Mild Ableism, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Stand-Up Comedy, r slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgt_fuckybarnes/pseuds/sgt_fuckybarnes
Summary: Alternately Titled 'Bucky complains a lot but people seem to enjoy it'. Slightly based off the show The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Bucky deals with his issues by way of a slightly unusual hobby, but it works pretty well for him.





	After Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I do not own either the Avengers/Marvel characters in this or the elements taken from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Like the name of the bar, shhhh). Likes/Kudos/Reviews always welcome.

Steve leaned back against the kitchen counter, tilting his head a little so he could see a glimpse of Bucky’s dark hair past the cabinets where he was sitting on the couch. Steve half waved when Bucky caught him looking, and his best friend didn’t even smile back. The old Bucky would have given him a lopsided grin, cocked his head to the side and called out something’ real cocky. 

Take a picture, it’ll last longer!

Something like that. 

The new Bucky was quiet. He was quiet and dead-eyed and he hardly ever smiled, except the one time he saw Sam botch a landing on his Falcon wings and trip over a rock. Steve didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to pressure him or nothing, but Steve knew better than anyone what it was like to sit there and not say a goddamn word, bottling everything up until you fucking explode. Steve’s Ma always said bottling up was a Catholic thing, but Bucky was a jew and he managed it just fine, from what Steve was seeing. He’d tried to convince his old friend to see someone about it. A therapist, or even a goddamn friend. Steve had become so worried about Bucky he just might need his own therapist- not that he hadn’t before. 

Natasha snapped her fingers in front of Steve’s face. 

“Hey.”

She didn’t say it loud, or even in a particularly harsh tone, but Steve got the distinct feeling that he was being scolded, a feeling that caused him to respond with an automatic sorry that previously only could have been pulled from him by Sarah O'Connell Rogers, and even then not since 1932.  
“I’m sorry, Nat. I was...just thinking.” Steve said, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Since when do you think, Rogers?” Natasha asked him drily, raising one ginger eyebrow at him. 

“I was just thinking about Bucky.” Steve rephrased. God knows he did plenty of that. The eyebrow did not go down. 

“Oh?” she asked, nudging Steve’s arm a little. For a spy, Natasha couldn’t be subtle to save her life- not when it came to Steve’s personal problems. 

“Shut up.” he grumbled. “Not like that. I just mean...he never talks anymore. I’m worried about him. What if he never talks? About any of it? What if he bottles up all his feelings forever until he explodes?”

“You mean like you do?” Natasha replied. Steve could feel his ears going red again. 

“I…”

“Look, Steve. I get it. You’re worried about him. I was worried about him too, at first. But...he’s been more outgoing than you think he has. Trust me. He’s not bottling it up.”

“But he won’t talk to me.” Steve said, his voice cracking slightly. 

“He won’t talk to me, either. He doesn’t like...pity. He wants to be able to talk about it without anyone pitying him. Or talking back.” 

“How do you know all this?”

Natasha laughed, and it came out bitter. “Trust me. I was him, once. Or just like him. And even if I wasn’t...well. I’ll show you.” Nat said. Steve tilted his head to glance at Bucky again.

“Show me?”

“Tonight. I’ll send you the directions.” She said seriously. Steve was more confused than ever. 

“Tonight? Nat, what are you even talking ab-”

“Shhh. Do you want him to hear you? I’ll explain everything tonight.” Natasha said, swatting his arm. Steve was pretty sure that Bucky couldn’t hear anything they were saying. He looked way too invested in what looked like Say Yes To The Dress in Russian, and oh, the Old Steve never would have let the Old Bucky live that one down, but New Steve was so relieved New Bucky wasn’t just dissociating in front of a completely black TV screen that he wasn’t going to mention it. Steve fully intended on arguing that point, until he realized that Natasha had left the room. She’d completely, silently disappeared. 

‘Spies’ Steve thought bitterly. ‘They can never use the fucking door, can they?’

The rest of the day went past the way it normally did, only 10 times slower. Steve made a half hearted attempt at cleaning the apartment and Bucky sat silently with a vacant look on face all the way through, except to jump out of his skin when Steve turned the vacuum cleaner on.

It was eight o’clock when Natasha texted him finally, with no explanation. Just an address, and a couple of winking emojis.  
Steve glanced down at the address she’d provided. It was downtown Manhattan, not too far from the phallic overcompensation of a tower the Avengers called home.  
The Gaslight. A bar, Steve assumed, although he wasn’t quite sure what it had to do with Bucky. It was a distinct possibility Natasha was just baiting him into taking a night off, he was well aware, but any chance that something at the Gaslight could help Bucky- however slim that chance may be, meant that Steve had to go.  
Natasha sent him a second text just moments after, the soft ping making Steve jump out of his skin. 

Nat: Leave here at 11:00. He goes on at 11:30. We want seats near the back. Don’t be late. <3

He goes on at 11:30. What the hell was that supposed to mean?  
Nevertheless, Steve did as Natasha said. Around 11:00 he hopped into a cab, pulling a baseball cap low over his eyes and praying that the cabbie wouldn’t recognize him. 

“Where to?” the guy asked him, not even bothering to glance into the backseat at who the hell had just climbed into his cab. 

‘Thank god’, Steve thought. 

“Uh, the Gaslight.” he said. The cabbie nodded and hit the gas. 

The ride didn’t take long, barely 20 minutes in New York traffic. Hell, the place was practically on Steve’s doorstep. He shoved a wad of cash at the driver, giving him what he hoped was a charming smile. 

“Keep the change.”

“Hey, are you-?”

Steve shut the door and hurried into the bar before the cab driver could finish that sentence.  
The bar was dirty and dimly lit, just like every other bar in New York. So dark he almost didn’t notice Natasha waiting for him at the entrance, dressed in a nondescript black blouse and a pair of jeans. 

“Nat. What- Why are we here?” Steve asked. Natasha only smirked and grabbed his wrist, leading him further inside the bar. Now that he was all the way inside, Steve could see the small stage at the front of the bar, empty except for a microphone and a little stool. He frowned, glancing questioningly at Natasha, who simply shushed him. 

“Shut up. He’s about to go on.” 

‘He?’ Steve wondered. He didn’t have time to question it, because as soon as Natasha spoke a man got up onto the stage. Steve fell quiet, the question still on his lips.  
The spotlight shone so bright onto the stage that Steve barely recognized the man who entered until he sat on the stool and flashed his signature lopsided smile. 

“Evening, everyone.” Bucky drawled, propping his feet up on the bar of the stool. Steve’s eyes widened, he glanced in confusion from Bucky to Natasha, who merely shrugged. 

“He’s good. Watch him.” She said. 

Bucky did a cute little half-wave to the audience. 

“I’m Bucky Barnes.” he said. “Yeah, that Bucky Barnes. And since I’m such a nice fuckin’ guy, I’ll let you have....three questions. You there, gals in the back. You wanna ask about Steve Rogers’ love life? Cuz I can promise you, you’re not gonna be impressed.” he joked, pointing at a herd of tall brunettes in the corner. They giggled, and one of the girls whooped and made a call me sign with her hands. “And uh...you, right there in the middle, in the Trump hat. Hiya. You wanna yell at me about how I’m a war criminal and I deserve the death penalty?” Bucky taunted, leaning in forward like he was getting in the guy’s face. The man turned red. 

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, well that’s no problem.” Bucky replied cheerily. “We can easily exchange it for an anti-semitic comment about me controlling the government, if you like. I’ll do whatever works best for you.” He said. That startled a laugh out of the audience, and out of Steve. Bucky sat up in his seat and adjusted his suit jacket.  
“Alright, looks like we’re ready to get started.” He said. The audience clapped half-heartedly. “Oh, come on, he said, My prom date faked enthusiasm better than that.” The audience laughed a little bit. 

“There is it. Look you ya. You’re practically Black Widows.” 

Steve actually snorted at that, and Natasha stifled a laugh of her own.  
“So, I’m a super soldier…” Bucky began. “I’ve been alive for 100 years, I’ve witnessed and caused the rise and fall of several governments, and do you know what question people ask me the most? No? Well it’s ‘What was Captain America like before the war?’. The answer, by the way? A fucking asshole.” Bucky said bluntly. Natasha openly laughed at that one, as did quite a few other people. The rest just looked shocked at Bucky’s statement. 

“I know, I know…” Bucky continued. “You’re thinking the same thing they always do. ‘Well that can’t be true! He’s the Star Spangled Man with a Plan! Sure, he comes off a little self-righteous, but he’s no asshole!’ Well I’m tellin’ ya now, you’re wrong. An’ Stevie...he ain’t just a regular asshole, either. He was one’a those assholes who liked to scare people. I’m convinced he developed half the health conditions he had on purpose, just cuz he thought it’d give someone a stress ulcer.” He griped. Steve could feel himself turning red, but listening to Bucky talk about him like that brought him straight back to 1939, with his older friend lecturing him over a bowl of chicken broth, still in his work clothes. 

“An’ then if people still don’t believe me about Stevie, I tell ‘em he’s been arrested 13 times. That usually shocks ‘em. And it’s true! It is, I swear. The first time was boring. It was during Prohibition, we were 15, we got our hands on some booze, it ain’t important. That’s not the arrest I wanna talk about. I wanna talk about the second time Steve was arrested. Because that...that one is a funny fuckin’ story. Course, at the time I was scared outta my wits, but it’s funny now.”

Natasha glanced back at Steve, who merely shook his head in a pleading gesture- Don’t ask. Unfortunately, Bucky was on a roll.  
“So, when Stevie an’ I were about 25, there was a big ole haunted house on our block. Which was weird, by the way, ‘cuz we lived in Brooklyn. Pretty sure that was the first and last house I ever saw. So anyways, a witch lived in this house. And we knew that because the handprints in the driveway cement on the way up the house used to move around. No, no i’m serious! This was real! But the boys in our neighborhood use’ta go up outside the old house an’ dare each other to go in. I’ve been in. Every other boy in the neighborhood had been in too. ‘Specially the ones who just signed up for the army. It was like a test of bravery, or somethin’. I’m pretty sure more privates have been in that building than have been in me. An’ at one point the army’s official motta was ‘It Ain’t Gay if it’s with Barnes’.”

That comment got a big laugh, and an expression of moral outrage from the guy in the Trump hat. Bucky noticed, nodding towards the man a little. “I’m free every night except Fridays.” he teased, blowing a kiss. The man went redder than his hat and backed away, further into the shadows of the bar’s corners. Bucky laughed.  
“So me an a couple’a other fellas are hangin’ out in front of it. Me, Arnie Roth, Henry McEntire, Johnny Weiss an’ Stevie. So Johnny turns to us as says ‘Hey Rogers. Bet you can’t make it to the top floor.’.” Bucky paused for effect. 

“Little did he know...those were the magic words. I dunno if they put this in the history books, but legend has it that right before Captain America stormed the Azzano base to rescue the 107th, some poor army schmuck said ‘I bet you can’t get Barnes outta that lab’. He can’t resist. So he puffs out his little chest...gets that angry look on his face, like he does before he’s about to do something real stupid. And then he does somethin’ reeeeeaaaal stupid.” Bucky said. The audience chuckled, as did Natasha. 

“I hate that face.” she muttered.

“There’s no face.” Steve protested, but Natasha appeared not to hear him over the noise. Steve knew that really she was just choosing to ignore his comment. 

Bucky continued on his little tirade.  
“So he marches up the driveway with the handprints, reaches through the hole in the front door an’ opens it from the inside. Now, like I said. I’ve been inside this thing, so I know there’s no way Stevie’s gettin’ up those stairs to the third floor. Better men with more dexterity had tried and failed. Those stairs were a fuckin’ death trap, full of holes that go right through to the basement. The boys an’ I, we wanna hear his progress. I wanna watch out for him, the others just wanna hear him fall. So we press our ears against the front door. We hear feet on the stairs, slow at first, and then faster. And then we hear...it.”

Again Bucky paused, giving the audience a ‘you’re not gonna believe this shit’ look. Steve even felt a bit of anxiety build in his stomach, although he knew full well what happened, because he was there. 

“It was a scream. A...completely fucking inhuman scream. I’m serious. I’ve been waterboarded for 36 hours and nothing like that has ever come outta me. I used to drive nails into the hands of little Russian girls five times a week- none of them have come close to that.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Screw you Barnes!” she called to the stage. Bucky either didn’t hear or didn’t care about the comment. He forged ahead with his story. 

“So I’m goddamn panicking. I think my best friend is dead. I’m runnin’ across the street, shouting for help, callin’ the fire department an’ the police an when I finally get enough attention we all rush back to the house. Cop cars are already there, the police have their flashlights out, they’re searching for Stevie’s body in that house. This goes on for maybe 20 minutes, they don’t find nothin’. Finally, finally I decide to have a go at looking. I walk up those death-trap stairs and into a closet on the second floor, under the third floor’s stairs like Harry Fuckin’ Potter. And there he is. An’ in his arms...the ugliest fucking cat I’ve ever seen. He looks up at me, gives me a toothless smile, which, side note, shouldn’t be adorable on a grown ass man- especially not one who got his teeth knocked out in a bar fight, but it absolutely was, and he says in his most innocent voice ‘Bucky, can we keep it?” Bucky imitated Steve at the end, making his eyes all wide and rubbing the back of his neck like Steve did when he was nervous.  
“The cops were so pissed off they arrested him right there.” as Bucky finished his story the audience was howling with laughter.  
Bucky paused, waiting for the laughter to die down. Steve realized he must have done this before. A lot. Everything he said was thought out and practiced. How long had this been going on?

“I’m serious about him scarin’ people.” Bucky said, when silence finally fell over the crowd. “When we were 17 he came up with this big ole list of all the roller coasters in New York that wouldn’t let people with heart troubles on. And I think, good. Little shit’s preservation instinct finally kicks in. An’ he turns to me and says ‘I think if we head down to Coney Island again this weekend I can get ‘em all crossed off my list before my 18th birthday.” Bucky paused again for effect, and Steve could feel the heat of Natasha’s amused gaze on his neck. 

“I was 17.” he muttered in protest. 

Bucky barreled on ahead with his story. “So I tell Steve, if things ever start lookin’ real bad. You know, if he gets pneumonia or TB, he’s on his deathbed, I told him I’d take him to Coney Island, to the Cyclone, and I’d sit him down next to the stranger that looks like they scare the easiest. Because if you’re gonna die on a goddamn roller coaster, you’re taking someone down with you.” Steve remembered that conversation, all to clearly. He hadn’t mentioned the roller coaster to Bucky again until the week before he shipped out, when Bucky had finally relented in a sorry I’m going off to war gesture. 

“But enough about Stevie. If I wanted to think about shrimpy little pre-army Steve Rogers I’d put on some Frank Sinatra and fuck myself on a cucumber.” Bucky said drily. The audience burst out laughing. Steve burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself, the absurdity of the situation was too much- listening to his best friend spill intimate secrets to half of Greenwich Village in a bar so old and filthy it’d probably been around since the Great War.  
“No, no I’m serious!” Bucky insisted. “Believe me, gals. We’re all damn lucky he got the serum, now at least he’s proportional. Before, you’d go in expecting an appetizer and get a three course meal.” 

The girls in the back whooped and shrieked with high-pitched laughter. Steve was grateful for the dark, because he was sure his face was redder than the star on Bucky’s arm.

“Now I’m really gonna shut up about Steve, I promise. I know, I know. Now you gotta hear about my sad fuckin’ life. Boo hoo. It’s time to talk about Hydra.” Bucky said.

The audience went quiet, as if they were waiting for Bucky to break. Steve could feel sweat collecting on his collar as he watched. Bucky never talked about Hydra. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Would Bucky be angry? Scream? Cry?  
He felt himself reach for the gun on his belt, but Natasha shook her head minutely. 

“I’ve seen him do this set before. He’ll be fine.” 

Steve was skeptical, but he let his arms drop to his sides.  
“So, am I the only one who’s noticed that Nazis all tend to have really weird fetishes?” Bucky began. Natasha snorted through her nose.  
“Like not just on the internet, where you’ve got the people with swastika icons on facebook trying to fuck cartoon horses, it’s a pattern in real life too, I swear. Or at least it was in Hydra.” he continued. “And I just...I don’t know if it’s on purpose? As if fascist movements are purposefully recruiting people who think Japanese cartoons are sexy, or if it’s just all one big goddamn coincidence.”  
“I’m convinced it’s actually that...these fuckers have a tiny sliver of self-awareness. Maybe they look themselves in the mirror and think, ‘Welp, I’ve got some weird shit goin’ on that Freud wouldn’t touch with a 50 foot pole, so clearly I can’t be a normal person. I can’t get a job. Guess I’ll become a white supremacist’”  
“At least, that’s what happened with Brock Rumlow.” Bucky said. “Now uh...if you’re picturing like a beefy jock villain archetype from a knock off Back to the Future sequel, you’ve pretty much got him down to a T. I can’t even tell you the kind of emotional turmoil that knowing someone named Brock has seen my penis has put me through.”

Steve swallowed thickly. “I-I feel sick. I can’t listen to this.” he muttered. Natasha lashed out and grabbed his wrist before he could start to move. 

“Stay.” she commanded. “This- this is exactly what he doesn’t want. People freaking out. Just let him tell the story.”

He forced the bile back down his throat and nodded weakly. Bucky deserved to be able to tell his story in any way he wanted.  
“So, Brock…” Bucky continued. As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and fished out a cigarette, sticking it between his lips as he dug around for a lighter. “Brock was kind of a weird one.” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “He used to put me in this little thing. It was uh...god, what’s that word. It’s French. It’s like those little underwear dresses dames wear?”

“Lingerie!” someone in the audience shouted at him. 

“Lingerie! That’s it, thank you. So he put me in lingerie, an’ he would tie my arms together and I’d be sitting on the ground, completely bound and wearing a muzzle, so I dunno how the hell I was supposed to respond, but he would always ask me the same question.”  
Bucky puffed out his chest and put on a cocky expression, making it clear he was imitating Rumlow. “Asset- because that’s what they called me, the Asset. He’d say ‘Asset, do you know how babies are made’?”  
Steve reached out and grabbed Natasha’s hand, gripping until his knuckles turned white. 

“There’s nothing you can do now. Just let him get it out.” She murmured. 

“And what I wanted to say”, Bucky continued, “Was ‘Do you know the difference between being brainwashed and being a dumbass?’ Because it really didn’t seem like he did! I wasn’t a fuckin’ retard, I was just brainwashed. I mean don’t get me wrong, a couple more rounds in Sparky the Brain Blender and I woulda been, but in that moment I was just brainwashed. Course, I didn’t say none of that ‘cuz I was in a muzzle, so I just gritted my teeth and tried to convey with my eyes I have had sex with more women than you’ve shaken hands with.” 

The audience roared with laughter at that, and Bucky shot a cocky wink into the audience. Steve’s stomach flipped.  
“Thank you, thank you.” Bucky said. “I think I’ve got time for uhhh...one more little thing. An’ this one ain’t exactly a story, it’s more like a complaint.”  
“Why do people insist on calling me Russian?” Bucky asked. “I ain’t a Russian. I’m Romanian an’ Polish, assholes. I mean, you wouldn’t call Tony Stark Iraqi just ‘cause he was tortured there for a while. Then again, you guys actually respect and like Tony Stark, don’t ya?” he teased. 

“That’s when you know you’ve hit rock bottom. When you can’t beat the charisma of a man who wears his pubes on his chin.”

The audience lost it at that, laughing and clapping so loud Steve could hardly hear his own heart pounding over it. He clapped along with them, biting a lip to contain his own laughter.  
“Thank you very much everyone, you’ve been a great audience!” Bucky said, lighting his cigarette and taking a half-hearted little bow. “I’ll be back next Friday at 11:30, thank you.” he said. And with that, Bucky got off the stage. 

Steve was in a state of shock. He didn’t know what to do, or say. Bucky was...funny. More importantly, Bucky was a jackass who’d been lying to Steve for weeks. Bucky was- Bucky was-  
Bucky was walking over to him. Shit. Steve tried to duck behind Natasha, who just waved calmly. 

“Great set, Barnes.” She said, giving him a one armed hug. He grimaced in response. 

“Ya think? I wasn’t so sure about the Rumlow bit. People don’t wanna hear about that, y’know?”

“No, no it was funny. You pulled it off.”

Bucky grinned. 

“Yeah? What did you think, Stevie?” he asked, glancing over Nat’s shoulder at Steve, who was still doing a frankly pathetic job of trying to hide behind their 5’4” friend. 

“I...uh. It was real funny, Buck.” he said awkwardly. “I can’t believe you talked to a whole crowd of people about my penis.”

Bucky threw an arm around his shoulder.  
“You’re a celebrity now, Rogers. People are gonna talk about your penis whether you like it or not.” Steve wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so he just changed the subject as quickly as he could. 

“I can’t goddamn believe you, Barnes. You can’t open up to a therapist, or to me? But you’ll talk about your fuckin’ problems to 30 random strangers every Friday night? And you didn’t even tell me?” Steve demanded. Bucky looked taken aback. 

“Of course I told you. I told you tonight. You really think you would be here if I didn’t want you here?” Steve sighed. Shit. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I wasn’t trying to pressure you, I just…” he shrugged, looking lost. 

“He was worried about you.” Natasha stepped in. Steve nodded. Exactly. He was worried. 

“I know, Stevie I’m sorry. I just...I couldn’t make myself talk. Not to you. You care about me a lot. If you heard some of the stuff that happened to me, you’d never treat me the same again. I wanted the kid gloves to come off, y’know? I’m a grown ass man.” Bucky explained. “And these people...they don’t give a flying fuck about me. They don’t care if Nazis made me try to kill my best friend, or if I can’t smell antiseptic wipes without having flashbacks to the time a mad scientist took my arm stub without any anesthetic because ‘my kind doesn’t deserve it.” he said, making quotation marks. Steve blanched. 

“God, Buck that’s awful I’m so-"

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. That’s exactly what I don’t want. I just...want to talk. No response, no pity, just...listen, alright? I know you’ve never been much good at that…”  
Steve smacked the back of Bucky’s head. 

“Just cuz you’re traumatized doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass.” he replied. Bucky threw his head back and laughed. 

“See? See how much better that is than another ‘I’m sorry’?”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Steve could see Bucky’s point. Maybe he had been a little bit...overprotective.  
“Well...I’m sorry for being sorry.” he said quietly

“Don’ worry about it, pal.” Bucky said, smiling fondly at him the way Old Bucky used to. Steve took a step closer, tilting his head down to meet Bucky at eye level. “You were worried about me. I get it. I’d probably be worried too.”

Steve paused, at a loss for what to see. The words that came to him weren’t the profound expression of relief at his best friend’s recovery that he intended. 

“You just talked about my dick for a half hour, I think we’re a little past ‘pal’.” Shit.

“And that’s my cue to go.” Natasha muttered, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “It was a good show, Barnes. You two...well. I won’t wait up.”

Luckily for Steve’s continued sanity, Bucky seemed to find his earlier comment funny. His eyes were sparkling like they used to, right before he was about to tell a particularly dirty joke, or maybe tease Steve about something real goddamn embarrassing. 

“So…” Bucky said quietly. 

“So…” Steve echoed. 

“God damn, I didn’t prepare a script for this part.” Bucky muttered. Steve laughed, placing a gentle hand on his friend’s hip. 

“You wrote all that? The stuff you said? It was funny, Buck.” 

“Yeah. Sorta the point.” Bucky replied, a slow smile creeping onto his lips. Steve couldn’t help but grin. He hadn’t seen that lopsided Bucky Barnes smile in a long time. 

“How long have you been doing that, Buck?”

Bucky thought about it for a minute, his gaze pointed upwards like he was trying to solve a difficult math problem. 

“Uh...I dunno, three months?” He replied. Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe to yell, but he was at a sudden loss for words. 

“Three months?!” He demanded. “How the hell did I not know about this? How does the press not know about this?”

Bucky shrugged. “I got my ways.” He said. 

Steve was not reassured.  
“You’re a goddamn menace, Barnes.” Steve said fondly. 

“I’m hilarious.” Bucky retorted.

And after what he’d seen that night, he couldn’t really argue.


End file.
